


Tu me saoûles, Miller. (enfin je crois)

by fassenheimr (Azraelique)



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Jim is not sulking, M/M, alex is a little shit, he is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azraelique/pseuds/fassenheimr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller's a douche. Even more, he's an annoying douche, who almost got them killed multiple times in what, three hours? Yeah. Miller's a douche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tu me saoûles, Miller. (enfin je crois)

**Author's Note:**

> Folks, let's be honest: I haven't read the books (but I will!).. So consider this a canon divergence.  
> Sets loosely after the season finale.
> 
> Rated T for some swearing. Unbeta'd
> 
>  
> 
> A gift for Matt, with whom I share this account and a Tumblr. To you, this apology fic. (i wuv u)

Miller was a loose cannon.

 

He bulldozed his way into their life like he did on The Eros' Mexican Standoff —Jim isn't sure that's the correct use of the term, but he heard Tom used it multiple times ' _one of the most cherished tropes of old-time western pictures_ ' and he liked it anyway — running his foul mouth and being a trigger-happy ex-cop.

 

Jim knew he was bad news from the beginning, and yet, the way his whole posture changed when he forced the door of Polanski's room — which, as it turned out, wasn't Lionel-some-dude per se, but hardcore OPA member slash Earther Julie Mao — made him see something else; a broken man looking for water in the desert, a man who lost everything chasing ghosts that will never answer to him. And Jim is a sucker for lost causes.

 

Oh, he's in so much trouble.

 

Naomi didn't like him, so did Alex, and Amos — well, better not think about _who_ Amos doesn't like. And he got it. Yeah, he got it. Miller's a douche, and Jim can almost hear belters spitting _well wala_ at him. Even more, he's an annoying douche, who almost got them killed multiple times in what, three hours? Yeah. Miller's a douche.

 

So why did he feel himself slowly gravitating towards him like a satellite orbiting Earth?

 

Ugh. 'a satellite orbiting Earth'? Way to go, Holden. Waxing poetic about Joe was definitely the thing to do. Erm, Miller. Yeah, Miller. Miller the douche who almost got him killed.

 

The cup of coffee — coffee! And not some drink-that-passes-as-coffee, no, the real deal! — he drank didn't help with his thoughts in turmoil. And it's even like it made everything worse. Why did he thought sitting for a cup of coffee would help? Oh, yeah. Because being anyway near Miller was worse.

 

Well, apparently, the douche didn't even have to be in the same room to be **a pain in his ass**.

No— no, no, _no_ there are no jokes waiting for what he just said. Out loud. And, oh, was that someone coughing? Yeah. That's Alex. Quietly leaving the room, probably because he didn't want to be near Jim grumbling out loud. Real smooth, Holden, real smooth.

'Hm, coffee. I'm going to make myself a cup, want some more?'

 

Miller? Why is Miller here? Nevermind — since _when_ is he here? Oh no, did he hear—

 

'Hey, quit staring at me. I'm trying to be nice, so help me out.'

 

'Your pal Sematimba didn't seem like a good guy, or so I've heard.'

 

What was that? Again. Smooth, Holden. Blurting that when he was _trying to be nice_ was great. Great.

Miller didn't respond, just raised an eyebrow, _really?_ , turned his back and started the coffeemaker. Jim sighed. When he looked around the room, he saw Alex standing on the threshold, smirking, looking at him and Miller and back again. Jim offered him a crude gesture, making Alex huff and take off. He knew he was acting like an idiot, he didn't need the audience, thank you very much. He put his head between his arms, and knocked it softly on the table.

He startled when he heard — or more like felt — the knock on the table. Raising his head, he saw Miller sitting in the opposite stool, a cup in his left hand, his right hand flat on the table. Did he just..?

 

'You're a weirdo, kid.'

'I'm not a kid.' Ha. Because that's not a childish thing to say.

'If you say so.'

 

Jim huffed, stretching his back, trying to get a better posture — one that hadn't written 'SULKING' all over it, and looked at Miller, chin raised high, left eyebrow up, in a challenging manner.

 

He laughed. Miller laughed. And not a small huffed one, no, a full-throttled, loudly wheezing one. And Jim felt his cheeks getting hotter — because he was embarrassed, alright, he wasn't _blushing_ —, his head mechanically turned down and he started putting his arms on the table and then, then—

 

Miller ruffled his hair. The _fucker_.

 

Jim took Miller's wrist, looking at the offending hand like it had insulted his parents, and he realized the other had stopped laughing. When he dared looking him in the eyes, he saw himself staring right back at two light brown orbs that seemed to see more than they should. He swallowed. He didn't know how much time he kept starring at Miller, his wrist tightly locked in his fist, but it felt too long, but not long enough and then, the douche smirked so Jim released him like he got himself burnt, and he's pretty sure he was looking — and probably acting — like a madman.

 

The other seemed unruffled by the change of position, and started to sip on his coffee, looking smug and Jim even let himself comparing him to a peacock. He huffed, loudly, and realized he actually had nothing to do, or at least that there was no reason for him to be sitting here anymore, with his cold empty mug.

 

'You look like you need it.'

 

Miller was softly waving his cup at him and without thinking, Jim took it and gulped its content while staring at Miller. He thought he saw the other's eyes darkening at the gesture, but he was probably imagining it. Probably. Definitely. Well, more likely.

 

'If you are going to drink it all, the least you can do is making me another one.'

 

Knocking the now empty cup on the table, Jim felt himself smirk.

 

'I thought you were trying to be nice.'

 

He was being smug, he knew it, but he couldn't help it. Miller huffed and stood up, putting a strand of hair back in place with his fingers — and Jim did _not_ stare at those fingers — and stared at him with a strange look in his eyes.

 

'You're really something, James.'

 

And with that, Miller left the room, leaving Jim staring at the wall for a long moment. He realized way after that Miller called him James. Not 'kid', not 'Holden', but James.

 

He did not know what to do with that information.

 

**Author's Note:**

> First post on the archive, whoo!
> 
> So I might continue this, but, just in case, I'm checking it as completed (because I hate unfinished works. They make my heart bleed).  
> Thoughts, comments, critiques are welcomed (but don't feel obligated).


End file.
